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Once there lived a beaver named Barry Beaver. Barry was a very happy and self sufficient fellow. He was content with his daily routine, which included waking up, tending to the dam on the river which his ancestors had built, preparing meals and going to bed. He had a large family with a lot of cousins, aunts and uncles. Every night they would dine together, sing songs and retire to bed one after the other. Bed time was a family affair too, mind you. They would all sleep in the river holding hands with one another to make sure they don’t drift away.

Now, among all his cousins, Barry, was least adventurous (his cousins mercilessly reminded him that each day). The most adventurous thing he might’ve ever done was to climb on the other side of the dam all by himself. His mundane routine never ceased to excite him; he savoured every element of his day as if it was the last day on Earth. He was, as a matter of fact, the best in spotting irregularities and obscurities in the dam compared to all his cousins. This was the reason; all the elders in the family adored him and gave his examples to teach their kids. His cousins (out of sheer jealousy and frustration) would mock him, tease him and at times even bullied him. And this is where our story begins.

One day, just as Barry was going about his routine inspection, three of his cousins rounded him up. They were particularly mad about the part that Barry had discovered a cavity in the dam a couple of minutes after his eldest cousin had submitted his reports of inspection stating all was well. The elders had punished his cousin by making him spend the enter day fixing up the cavity all by himself. Enraged, they had decided it was time someone took charge and taught Barry a few life lessons.

“So, you think you can outsmart us, eh?” asked Barry’s eldest cousin.

“I merely do my duties. Had you done the needful, we wouldn’t have been having this conversation.” Wittily replied Barry and tried to push his way through to avoid any further altercation. How mistaken he was for his cousin simply grabbed his tail and tossed him back. Beyond this point no more words were exchanged, only blows.

That night, Barry stayed aloof from all the merry making. He remained in the shadows until everyone had slept before making his way to sleep. He did not wish anybody to find out he had been beaten up out of embarrassment and fear of elders intervening only to worsen the issue. Barry gently massaged his wounds as he drifted off to sleep (holding a low falling tree branch in water).

Barry would never remember the incidents that unfolded that night. His cousin had not done a good job filling up the cavity. A small rock the size of Barry’s head carried by the flowing river hit the cavity with great force. The cavity immediately gave way. The current grew stronger than the strength of the branch Barry was holding on to. The branch silently snapped carrying Barry through the hole.

Imagine Barry’s surprise when he woke up. Shock didn’t take much long to settle in as the baffled beaver looked all around. This must be one of his cousin’s jokes. It has got to be. After having frantically looked everywhere, a realisation dawned upon him. He was lost. But how? Could he have drifted away? Again how? The dam was intact. Or was it? Unending questions stressed exacerbated his anxiety.

By the time it was noon, Barry had calmed his mind; He had to think straight. He glanced at the river. Perhaps he could try following it back upstream. Yes, that seemed a good idea. He mustered himself up for a long trek upstream.

Barry walked on and on for until nightfall, however, nothing seemed familiar. Worn out, he decided to rest the night and continue his journey tomorrow. Afraid of drifting once more, he decided to dig himself a pit beside the tree and snuggle in. As he settled down to sleep, his worries returned. Will he find his home tomorrow? Would anyone have noticed his disappearance? Would they search for him or simply ignore his absence and move on? His head was racing with questions once again, each worse than the previous one. Eventually exhaustion left behind his worries and helped him drift asleep.

The next day, Barry woke with a start. There were loud banging noises and a constant commotion in the air. How did he manage to sleep so long, he never understood. Out of curiosity he carefully moved behind bushes towards the commotion. He must have reached a human habitat, for there were humans all around doing strange things. Some were shooting fires with loud noises a few were playing with perfectly round rocks (though they seemed quite light to be thrown around with such an ease). There were a few who were cooking on fire. It all smelled so good especially since Barry hadn’t had anything but berries on the way.

Cautiously Barry made his way towards unattended food. He had heard far too many tales of human atrocities towards beavers to attract any attention. He was successfully able to smuggle a few pieces of bread and some cooked animal. This feels so good! He thought. All his tensions of returning home forgotten, Barry sat reclined by a tree well covered by the bushes and savoured each bite. Food had never tasted so good before.

As he ate, he looked at the humans play. One thing in particular caught his attention; blue coloured blobs that floated in the air connected to a pillar with the help of a thin string. He saw one elderly human give two to an excited little girl. However, in the exchange of hands, one of the blobs flew away in the sky, higher and higher it drifted until only a speck was seen. Barry immediately was struck with an idea. He could go higher using those blobs and scan the ground for his home.

Leaving the food behind, Barry sneaked stealthily towards the blue blobs. He hid behind a red pillar to which the blobs were tied. He looked around to see if the coast was clear. He saw the same elderly man now talking with an elderly looking lady (who was carrying a baby in her arms).

“That’s not a problem at all ma’am, I will take these three balloons to your campsite for you.”

The elderly fellow plucked three blue balloons and left with the lady towards her campsite. Barry knew this was the moment. He hastily climbed the pillar and plucked a few balloons. He simply held them; they did not lift him in the air. Thinking fast, he plucked all of them and held on to them tightly. Slowly and steadily he began rising higher and higher into the sky. He looked in all directions for a hint of his home and lo and behold, there it was the tiny little dam just a few miles towards the mountains.

As though answering his request, the winds blew him in the direction to his home. Barry couldn’t be happier. He started releasing one balloon after the other as he flew closer to home. He was left with barely a few balloons when he began descending near the dam. The other beavers, which were searching for him, started pointing towards him in absolute awe. They were as shocked as they were relieved to see him drifting steadily towards them.

Barry’s eldest cousin ran towards him, as he landed, hugged him and began crying. “Forgive me cousin; it was my fault you were drifted away. I will never feign my duties ever again. I am so sorry.” Taken aback by the sudden change in the feelings, Barry immediately forgave him.

All the beavers surrounded Barry as he told his adventurous tale. Since then, nobody mocked Barry anymore. He had become a hero overnight. His cousins too improved their attitude towards him and he came to be known as ‘Balloon Beaver’.

A long time ago, a little boy planted a Tree sampling. He nurtured it with utmost care all his life. After him, his children and after them, their children.

The Tree thrived in their love. It grew taller and stronger by the day. The leaves on it grew so dense; they gave shade to the owner’s entire house.

The Tree it seemed had become centre of their love. The children would play around it; the older kids would even climb up in glee. The elders found peaceful refuge for their mundane activities under the Tree; they would sit beside it to read or to talk of many a thing.

However, one rainy morning, the youngest girl came up to the Tree to talk as she routinely did. She said, “This is probably the last time we are talking, you know. Maa says since Dadda has been called over by God to take care of his accounts, he won’t be coming back for a long long time. However, in the meantime, we have to shift to a smaller house, you know, since we are one member less. She also says we can’t take you there as it doesn’t have a backyard. Not yet at least. So goodbye, Tree. I will always love you.”

The Tree could not fathom what to make of it. Who will now take care of it? Will it ever find love and be happy again? The Tree sulked as the days grew into months and months into years.

The house had long been demolished and a road was being paved in its place. They wanted to chop off the Tree too, (the Tree had overheard one of the workers talk) but the governing body would not allow it. However, it didn’t matter to Tree. Being alone, unloved and unacknowledged was as good as being dead. Gloom had withered most of its leaves and weakened its strength too.

One fine day, the workers had erected a Lamp post beside the Tree. The post would sleep most of day and come to life at night. The post was a very jolly fellow. It would call out to cars passing by, asking for any news. But no car stayed long to reply back. However, this would not demean his spirit at all. He would try again with the next car.

The Tree observed this keenly despite its sullen state. Curiosity overpowered his gloom and it asked the Lamp post, “Nobody ever replies to you, doesn’t that make you sad? Doesn’t that make you feel unloved and pariah?” the Lamp post looked at the Tree just for a flicker and joyfully replied, “I live to grow, my friend. I believe tomorrow will be different.”

The Tree shook its branches with a note of resignation. The Tree knew it was a matter of time before the Lamp post would give up. However, the Lamp post continued its routine every night without a hint of hesitation.

One night after weeks and weeks of calling out, a car passed by and before the Lamp post could call out to it, the car yelled back, “two new buildings have been painted in the city.” The car had zoomed past before the post could say thanks. And so it began. All the cars the Lamp post had called out to, one after the other, on their return journey brought their news. Soon the Lamp post and the Tree had heard enough to map the entire city.

Utterly surprised, the Tree asked how the Lamp post mustered the courage to not give up when nothing favoured it. How did it grow the grit to pursue on without as much as a twitch of hesitation? The Lamp post answered, “It’s very simple, my friend. I believed there more to me than just lighting up the road. However, in order for me to grow, I needed to push myself beyond my limitations or in other words, beyond my comfort zone. Hence, I stretched myself and found out all I had about the city. I can now, not just light up the path for a few metres, I can also inform the cars of any news of the city ahead.

”But it’s not just me; the same is true for everybody. Yes, you too. There’s so much more to all of us than just the mundane reason we are comfortable living with. You, my friend, had become far too comfortable in your comfort zone. You stopped growing. That’s why, when you were thrown a challenge, you withered. You submitted yourself to eternal sadness. Why can’t you find a new purpose? A purpose to grow once again.”

The words struck the Tree like a bolt of lightning. The Tree vowed to turn things around and find a purpose to live (rather to grow). The Tree once again grew to its full strength and bore innumerable fruits on its branches. Today, the Tree and the Lamp post not only guide the travellers with news and suggestions but also provide fruits and shelter.

Panting slightly, I walked in the coffee shop. My rain-water soaked sneakers making pug-marks as I trudged in. Profuse rains had strived real hard to put an end to most people’s work-day. Not mine.

I smirked as I collected my cup of brewing hot coffee from the server and made way towards a window seating overlooking the otherwise crowded street, now, devoid of any signs of life. Yes, the shrewd rains made very sure of that.

I put the coffee on the low level four legged wooden table and unzipped my waterproof bag to pull out my DSLR. Not caring about the mud-water marks my red canvas were making, I put my legs on the table as I reclined a little on my chair. I checked out, with immense pride, every photograph clicked today. Each one better than my best ever click. On your face, rains. Ha! Try harder next time.